On "growing up"

As kids, we were often awestruck by certain things that grown-ups did and thought in our heads "When I am able to do that, I'll be a grown-up".

I remember two such things -- drinking tea from dainty (and very fragile) tea cups (our drinks were usually served in plastic tumblers...so those Corelle cups always held my fancy).
The other thing was folding sarees neatly within seconds. I often watched Ma do it....and tried it myself several times later. But never without burying myself in a pile....clueless about which side to hold up and fold.

That day, I folded all my Puja sarees away while talking to Ma on the phone. Later, I realised I didn't even need to pay attention to the task. I just did it effortlessly.
It was a strange feeling. I could see myself as the awestruck little girl...only, this time, I was looking at the grown-up me.

While I have been a grown-up for years now (too many years!), this totally mundane task was like an epiphany. Not only was I folding my Puja sarees like a pro, I wasn't feeling the usual pangs of sadness that always marked the end of Puja for me as a child.

I had grown up indeed.

Waiting for fairies in our garden

This post is part of the Letters to My Little Girl series.

Dear Shanaya,

You will probably forget all about this weekend. So years from now, when you are reading this, I hope it makes you happy. As happy as you were helping Mummy and Daddy with setting up our backyard garden.

This weekend was about several trips to the local nurseries, getting our hands dirty in cow manure and potting mix, playing with water guns in the backyard, chasing bees in the morning and waiting patiently for nightfall when the garden fairies would visit.
You were such a big help, pottering about the backyard, singing songs that you made yourself.


Our garden is complete, well in time to enjoy the colours of Spring. I really hope the fairies you're waiting for, come visiting soon.

Lots  of love,
Mummy

5 ways using Google can harm you…

Writing this makes me feel a bit hypocritical. A part of me lives on Google land. I am one of those who would have Google on speed dial, if I could. And that is why it has become blatantly obvious to me that this “having-information-at-my-fingertips” is harming me in more ways than one.

I can no longer lose myself in anything – No matter what I am doing, watching, eating, drinking, hearing, saying….I am forever taking mental notes like “must find out more about this later”. Occasionally, I can’t even wait for “later”. So I’d google a historical era while watching a period drama (and end up missing a few scenes). Or I’d keep my book aside and look up the origin of an unfamiliar word. And of course, when a TED Talk or TV interview fascinates me, instead of watching it till the end, I put it on pause and instantly google the speaker’s spouse.  Always the “spouse” first, in order to see who these charming people find charming (and subconsciously check out how “available” they are). Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but it has surely killed my ability to “be immersed”.

I am a scaredy-cat – My Google-dependence grew worse during my pregnancy. My search history looked something like this:
• Should a pregnant woman eat prawns?
• Should a pregnant woman sit on the floor?
• Should a pregnant woman eat prawns while sitting on the floor?
OK, maybe not the last one. But you get the drift. I was neurotic, and let Google feed me morsels of fear and caution every minute (so, very little space in my tummy for prawns anyway). The point is, stories of deaths, diseases, accidents, lawsuits, heartbreaks, medical malpractices, recklessness, fear and hopelessness will find their way to you more easily than the positive stories. Medical websites (and “online” doctors) thrive on our curiosity, and the more we read, the more convinced we are that the harmless-looking rash on our skin is actually the first sign of leukaemia.

I don’t talk to people as much as I used to/would like to – What’s the point of having a real conversation when most of my questions are answered in the virtual world? You mean to say…you still call your mum to ask for recipes? And on moving to a new neighbourhood, do you ask your neighbour about the best local markets? Good for you. I want to be more like you. Seriously.  I hardly tap into the pool of knowledge and experience of people I know. I end up (and it sounds so stupid, even as I type this) getting information from face-less strangers in the virtual world than from people who love me, wish me well and would be more than happy to help.

I am lazy, boring and shallow – There was a time, when I used to write down reading notes. Excerpts, quotations, names of places and things that struck a chord. In the process, these things got etched in my memory…and I could often recite a verse or think of quotes and trivia, appropriate for the occasion. But then came Google. And I stopped making an effort, because I could “always look it up when I need to”.  I have stopped using the part of my brain that could store information and produce it on demand. This has also made me a sceptic. Every time I see someone post a picture on social media and caption it with a beautiful quote, my mind goes “Come on, you just looked it up because it would make you sound deep. It’s not like you actually read Oscar Wilde ever.”

I have lost my spontaneity and sense of wonder – Gone are the days when we just packed our bags and set off for a long drive to the country-side. With no planned destinations or stop-overs.  We’d discover little cafes, revel at the wild flowers that greeted us, walk into desolate memorial grounds and spend hours reading epitaphs. Now, I make sure I know when the wildflower season is….which cafes are the most popular…and which famous people were buried in those graves. I know this, and more, months before we actually go on that drive. Not surprising that I am not surprised at anything anymore. There is very little sense of wonder…in fact, there is this annoying feeling of déjà vu, which isn’t even déjà vu. It all seems familiar… not in any beautiful, mysterious way…but only because I have seen pictures of it on Google, when I was “looking up” things to see and do.

Dear Google, you have been a friend…but you have made me pay. And although I can’t think of any better place to say the classic “it’s not you…it’s me” phrase, I’ll just say that we’re both to blame. You have placed the world at my fingertips…and I did not resist the temptation.

Our song

(Part of the Letters to My Little Girl series)

Dear Shanaya,

You and I may not be the best singers (or music composers) on the planet, but we sure do have an “original” song under our belt. It’s a song that we sing in chorus, when we are happy. It’s the song I sing to you, when my heart bursts with love…and I just want to cuddle you tighter. It’s the song you sing to me, perched on “your” bar stool in the kitchen, as I wash dishes or cook us a meal.

The lyrics may not be very “inspired”, but you and I couldn’t love it more. The song has only three words, by the way, which are sung in a few different tunes J.

My version – My Chiku, My Chiku, My Chiku, Re

Your version - My Mummy, My Mummy, My Mummy, Re

In the darkest of times…

Or when we’ve had a fight…

I hope this song plays in our heads, and takes us back to those lazy afternoons....those early morning cuddles....or those cold evenings under our blankets....just you and I.

Love,

Mummy

P.S. You have just learnt to sing Do Re Mi, and want to sing it in loop all day. 

Turning Thirty Five

It’s been five years since I wrote this post.

Have I done well in the “grace” and “maturity” fronts? Who cares!

All that matters is that I had an eventful five years (yes, am considering I was born at 30, because I can’t remember what I was up to before then).

I have continued to earn a living
Spent a lot more time with Ma (and loved it!)
Travelled inter-state and to four new countries
Acquired a new passport (but definitely feel more “Indian” than ever)
Got drunk and made a fool of myself at a friend’s party (about time)
Renovated my old house and built a new (and survived!)
Made new friends (and lost touch with a few old ones)
Started my owl collection (not real owls)
De-cluttered to my heart’s content (house and mind)
Bought the Taj Mahal (only a miniature)
Downgraded from a massive DSLR to a point-n-shoot (when everyone else is upgrading)
Sold my treadmill and bought a proper clothes drying rack (about time)
Walked 3kms on a whim one day (and on bed rest for the next three days)
Designed my front garden (and very proud of it)
Written a speech in my honour on my retirement day, in the voice of a friend/colleague (assignment in a Leadership Training I attended)
Carried back gifts for 80 people on my last visit to India (I love that I know/love so many people)
Signed up for organ donation
Learnt to make “mishit doi”
Watched a World Cup cricket match at WACA
Got myself a new name – “mummy”!

So yes, there is another one of me roaming the earth now. On some days, she makes me feel like I am “three” (that’s how old she is now)….but often, I feel like I need a knee surgery just to keep up with her (which, by the way, I do need… to fix the torn menisci in my right knee).

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P.S. I spent my birthday planting trees with a group of workmates, as part of a community drive from work (in collaboration with Greening Australia). And although physically it felt like a boot  camp (walking miles, shovel in hand, and squatting and standing to plant over 100 trees, especially with the injured knee) it made me very content and happy. I will go back to the site in a few years to see how the seedlings have grown :).

Doing a Dylan

How many hairs have I lost this year?
How many plates have I washed?
How many times did I poop and puke?
How wise have I been with water?

The answer my friend,
Is flowing in the drain...
The answer is flowing in the drain.

(No offence to Dylan, but seems like the key things in life can be traced back to our drainage systems.)

And now for the real song, just so that you don't leave this post promising never to come back again...
 

You better be working very hard...

(Part of the Letters to My Little Girl series)

Dear Shanaya,

Last week, much to my shock (and Daddy’s), you announced:

 “I only like shopping and partying”.

At 2.5yrs, we were expecting things like “playing”, “dancing”, “drawing” or even “watching cartoons” to be your favourites. But no…not yours.

We can already tell that you’ll keep us on the edge of our seats, as we watch you grow up. And boy, how we are looking forward to that!

But just one thing…

Both shopping and partying require money. So we hope you can follow your dreams, work very hard, and make some money to fund your leisure activities. 

Daddy and I will be saving for your college and maybe some travel…but shopping and partying will have to be self-funded, my dear.

Love,

Mummy

Your Nickname

(Part of the Letters to My Little Girl series)

Dear Shanaya,
Your nickname isn’t a typo. We did mean it to be Chiku, the Indian name of the sapodilla, which is a tropical fruit known for its sweetness. It has nothing to do with “cheeky”, which is an adjective we’d rather not have associated with you.
Love,
Mummy
P.S. Written after one of the lovely educators at your day care told us that you have taken a little boy under your wings, call him your “baby” and feed him crayons.

Facebook 101

“I have often considered deactivating my Facebook account. It’s so depressing to see other people posting pictures of their perfect lives…their accomplishments, pets, kids, vacations, food, parties, relationship milestones etc., when I feel like nothing much is happening in my life!”

That’s what a friend of mine told me today, as we were venting to each other about the monotony of our respective lives. Now, as a veteran cynic, here were my few pearls of wisdom to her, on how to avoid Facebook-induced depression:

• Remember what they say about “judging a book by the cover”? If there was FB when that idiom was coined, it would have said “Don’t judge a person’s life by their FB posts”. Obviously, we are all sharing only the “best” moments of our lives on social media (with exceptions, like this dude). But to think that someone’s life is unadulterated happiness, would be to believe that reality TV is un-edited.  
• The so called “most romantic” couples on FB are probably fighting like cats and dogs behind closed doors…
• That drool-worthy Vietnamese street food posted straight from “The perfect vacation in Vietnam” probably gave the poster food poisoning soon after….
• That fun party you wish you were invited to probably had really good posers who could make even a funeral look like fun…
• The new job announcement from your high-school rival was probably true…but what you didn’t know was that he was unemployed for 6 months before this (and struggling)…
• If you are one of those people who constantly check FB after you have posted something, and get depressed when you don’t get enough “likes” and “comments”, baby, you need to listen to this song. Alisha Chinai is of course singing about a mutual exchange of hearts/love, but the same principle works for FB too. “Like ke badle mein like de…”.  Every time you “like” or “comment” on someone’s post, you’re making an investment. And you will get the returns. Those same people will return the favour when you post, to keep the vicious cycle going. Barter system is not dead.

• A person who has 1029 friends on FB probably has no real friends. And by “real” I mean “not in the virtual world”.  Such a sorry state of the world when even YouTube views and likes can be bought! 

Sadly, FB is often a great example of that saying about “empty vessels making the most noise”. The happiest or most accomplished people are probably the least active on FB or don’t even have FB profiles. They are busy living their lives…climbing mountains, gazing at stars, telling bedtime stories or baking in their little kitchens that smell like heaven.
So while FB can be very appetising, it’s best consumed with a pinch of salt.
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P.S. I have a few pretty aggressive investors on my friends list. They hit "like" two seconds after I post something, even lengthy reads like this one. So unless they are really fast readers like this girl, they are the kind of people who make FB hilarious.

Achilles' Heel

It wasn’t the first day of the year. Nor was it my birthday. But yesterday was a day of resolutions. Why? Well, when your almost 3-yr old tells you “Mummy, your tummy is like Daddy Pig’s”, you know it wasn’t really a compliment (for the uninitiated, Daddy Pig is Peppa Pig’s dad, whose tummy walks at least 500m ahead of the rest of his body).

So I decide to make my tummy history. I call up many local fitness clubs and gyms, and finally book a class in one. Brimming with excitement, I get into my workout gear and wait for “A” to get back from work and drive me to the centre. My little girl throws a tantrum saying she wanted to “exerzist” too. But I tell her that any more “exerzist” will make her vanish, and that will make me very sad.

“A”, of course, is very happy that I have finally taken the plunge. He is at his super-supportive avatar, not complaining at all about having to give the little missy her shower and dinner all on his own (a task that would make even Iron Man poop his pants).

Two seconds at the centre, and I have a panic attack of sorts. Not only was there no overweight person like me, there was nobody my age or fitness level. A room full of young girls who looked like they run triathlons for a living…and a friendly instructor who ran a boot-camp style routine. They had determination written on their faces, eyebrows squished and lips tightened to focus on their fiftieth squat. I was clearly in the wrong class.

Anyhow, I join the routine after a feeble attempt at cracking a joke about my fitness. I thought I would die after two squats, but I didn’t. In fact, it started to feel like fun. Why? Well, looking at the mirrored walls of the studio, I couldn’t help but think “mirror, mirror on the wall…who is the fittest of them all”. So I gulped my laughter and stretched my legs, up down, up down….squat, now stand…now jump…now lie down and touch your knee with your nose, and all this while, remember to breathe. Are you kidding me? It felt like running on a treadmill blindfolded, with a plastic bag over my face! I couldn’t stop…and I definitely couldn’t breathe.

While the Iron Ladies went on like they were having a stroll in the park, Daddy Pig panted and puffed. And then, snap snap snap. What was that? It was Daddy Pig’s knee. Something had snapped and I found myself sitting on the floor. Embarrassed, but trying to appear calm, I assure them that it was nothing major. But they wouldn’t believe me, especially after one of them swore she heard my bones snap! So I had them all fuss over me, help me sit on a chair with pillows under my feet, until “A” arrived to take me back home.

The look on his face…I cannot even describe it. If I had been running on a treadmill blindfolded, he looked like he was made to run on one after someone had pulled out his eyeballs. And to think that a 3-yr old is capable of such torture techniques over her bath and dinner is nothing less than bone-chilling! Anyway, given I couldn’t walk very well on my own, he helped me into the car and let me narrate my story. After a minute of silence (like they do in memory of someone who has passed away), he says “You know what, you are just fine the way you are”. Meaning “Please don’t ever do this again…to yourself or me”.

That night, the pain wasn’t too bad, so I went to bed early. In the morning, my leg was a tree trunk. My knee was swollen and it felt like I had metal chains tied to my right leg. I managed to get an afternoon appointment with our doctor, so I went to work limping.  I regretted it straight away. No, not because the pain got worse…but because everyone wanted to know what had happened. And although a “sports injury” is often quite cool, it’s actually quite awkward when it’s difficult to explain whether I had the injury due to sports or the lack of it (my shape definitely supports the latter).

At the doctor’s clinic, he asked me to sit and then stand up, stretch my leg and then fold my knee. Oh, the irony! He almost sounded like the fitness instructor. And when he inspected my knee closely and said he suspected ligament tear, all I could think of was…”thank god, my legs are shaved”.

P.S. I need to get a CT Scan – Arthogram done to find the extent of my physical injury. As for the mental trauma and embarrassment….there’s nothing that a bottle of wine doesn’t fix.

Moral of the story: “Perfection cannot be improved”. So don’t hurt yourself trying too hard!

And one for the ladies: Always have your legs shaved/waxed (whatever your weapon of choice) even if it’s winter and you know they’ll never be exposed. Life will find a way to catch you unguarded.

Edited to add: Turns out (after a CT scan) that I have two torn menisci and may need surgery and/or physio to recover. Damn.